No Rest for the Wicked
by cosmiqueer
Summary: Aiden put a cannonball through his own life. He's wrecked all his friendships, burnt down every bridge and stood triumphantly on the ashes. But what is his side of the story? What caused him to snap the way he did, and what happened in the aftermath? Nothing has gone the way he planned, and he's now left to pick up the pieces of his life...or scatter them once and for all.
1. one

If there was one thing Aiden was good at, it was running from his problems.

If he had to think of another thing he was good at, it was getting himself into said problems in the first place.

He'd been running for years. Darting from one problem to the next, tripping over his own feet in an attempt to stay ahead of his own thoughts.

He would never run fast enough or far enough to escape this.

_You failed you failed you failed you failed you failed you failed you failed_

He'd had no plan, no end goal. His purpose, his motivation to do any of the horrible things he'd done, was to destroy the Order and himself.

The Order, who'd thrown his life upside down, tossed his dignity to the dogs, and whisked away his best friend.

Himself, who'd let it happen. Himself, who somehow still cared.

_You failed you failed you failed you failed you failed you failed you failed you failed you failed_

The words had echoed around him like screams in a cave, forming of the wind whistling in his ears as he fell from Sky City.

He'd told Jesse to push him off. She'd listened.

She had defeated him fairly. His forte was trickery, not swordplay. He'd rather lure someone into a trap than fight them outright, and he'd been blinded by anger at the time of the battle.

Jesse had assumed he'd been angry with her.

She'd never guessed that all his fury was turned inward.

_Failed failed failed failed failed failed failed failed failed failed failed failed _

The sword had gone flying out of his hands, a well-timed twist of the hero's blade knocking the rain-slicked handle out of his grip.

He'd collapsed, the water on the cobblestone soaking the shins of his jeans. Hands held up in a mocking surrender, he'd hissed, "What are you going to do with me?"

_Kill me. Stab me, run me through. End this. End me. You know I deserve it. Kill me kill me kill me. _

"I don't know, Aiden. What should I do with you?" She'd snarled. "I oughtta just leave you here to rot, after everything you've done."

He'd given her a sickly grin. "Why not go the whole hog, and just kill me now? Send me off the edge, if it suits you. We all know I wouldn't be the first person you've sent falling to their death."

Her tan face had contorted with rage, and she'd reached down and grabbed him by one of the leather straps that made up his armour. The tone in which she'd said the next words was even colder than the rain still falling on his face. "That'd be too good for you, Aiden. You're a liar, a weasel, and a murderer, and I refuse to give you the easy way out. You'll end up dying alone somewhere, but you won't get the satisfaction of letting me do it for you."

"How kind of you. This, from the person the whole world looks up to?" he'd snarked.

"This, from the person who's tried to undermine every step I've taken?" she'd shot back. A small cut over her mouth had opened during their fight, sending crimson blood dripping down her chin. "You're despicable."

Aiden had stood then, brushing her hand away. "The word you're looking for is _wicked_." He told her.

She'd immediately grabbed ahold of the leather strap again, using it to push him backwards. "Call it whatever you want, Aiden. History isn't written by failures."

With one strong shove, he'd been sent off the edge, plummeting down with the rain. He'd known from the start of the descent that he wasn't going to die, not if Jesse had survived her own fall from the wretched place.

You know you've really fucked up when even your enemies won't deign to kill you.

_Failed, faded, forsaken._


	2. two

He'd hit the water several moments later, scrambling out of the shallow lake as soon as he could. Clothes dripping, face bleeding, anger now forlorn...he ran.

Through trees and across plains, he tried to leave everything behind. He was going nowhere, hoping to find the end of the world, or the end of himself. Whichever came sooner.

He ran far enough to leave the aftermath of his mistakes in the dust behind, but no matter how far he ran, he knew he'd never escape the self-hate that had driven him to make them.

Every malicious word circled inside his head, stinging like Silverfish bites. There was another thing he was good at: letting his mouth get ahead of his brain. This was just one of the many problems he'd never solve, the dark patch of meanness that reared its head whenever he failed to pay attention.

He hated it so, so much. He'd never understood why it happened, the spiteful words slipping out without thought. Slicing between the cracks of others' armour. The verbal jabs hurt them, but they hurt Aiden even more.

How many times had he curled up in a corner of his room, hiding his face in his hands as he recounted every mean thing he'd said without thinking?

How many times had dirty looks been thrown his way before he'd even said a word, reminders of things he'd said or done in the past?

How many times had he become aware of a hurtful phrase just seconds after it had left his lips, biting his tongue and wishing more than anything that he could reverse the words just said?

How many times had he found a blade and slashed his arms open, digging bleeding cuts into his biceps and forearms as he tried in vain to even out the pain inside?

How many times had he wished, simply closed his eyes and _wished_, that he could magically become a better person?

He'd tried so hard, but he'd never change. No matter how many times the world turned, he'd never change. He couldn't change.

Everyone acted like he didn't already know that. Jesse, Gill, even Lukas- he'd felt their disdain as they'd snapped, "You'll never change, Aiden."

He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew.

_Failure. You'll never change, and you don't even know why._

He'd ran as long as he could, before his strength gave out and he forced himself to find a place to hide. And there he'd stayed, huddled up in a small mine for weeks, the last place to call his. He'd made nothing but a crafting table, furnace, and a bed- though he hadn't slept.

He'd stopped trying, to tell the truth. Ghosts of nightmares would haunt him wherever he lay, so why even bother?

There would be no hiding in insanity.

There would be no rest for the wicked.

He remembered the first time he'd called himself that. It had been an accident, but the word had echoed through his head ever since.

"I don't want to go along with this." Gill had argued. This was shortly after they'd been informed of the portal in the jungle temple, when Aiden was rambling yet again about how much he wanted to take down the Order. "It's utterly pointless. I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're being conniving, unrealistically malicious, and-"

"Wicked?" Aiden had interrupted flatly.

"_Depraved_." Gill snapped.

Aiden had crossed his arms. "You don't have to 'go along' with it. We don't need you."

The dark-haired young man had scowled at him, biting his lower lip. Aiden already knew he wasn't going to leave, no matter how reckless and dangerous he was being. Gill hated to be left behind, scared that the one time he bowed out was the one time they would need him the most. He would complain, he would go out of his way to bother Aiden, but he'd trail behind nonetheless.

The conversation had been dropped, but the word had followed Aiden around ever since.

_Wicked, wicked. Fool. You failed._


	3. three

It had been bad enough to hear the bitter words from Gill; it was something entirely different to hear them from Lukas.

Lukas, who had been by his side for as long as he could remember.  
Lukas, who had held him close and comforted him when Aiden's depression was getting the better of him.  
Lukas, who'd traded story ideas and character concepts with him late into many nights.  
Lukas, who'd constantly made kindhearted jokes about his impulsiveness and spontaneity.  
Lukas, who had always told him that things would get better, that he believed in Aiden, that he could change.  
Lukas, who had been the one consistent thing throughout Aiden's hellshow of a life.

Lukas, who'd turned out to be the worst kind of traitor.

Something had changed during the Witherstorm. The balance had shifted, and neither of them were the same as they had been before. Aiden had not blamed the blond boy for leaving with their rivals in the beginning of the disaster. It had been chance, a stroke of luck that he'd been with them. It hadn't entirely been his choice, much less his fault.

But as the world was being rebuilt, Lukas had not returned to his original friend group. He'd stayed with the Order, avoiding the Ocelots whenever he could.

Eventually, Aiden had confronted him. He hadn't initially been angry, just confused and a little hurt. Lukas had tried to edge out of the conversation, but he'd finally cracked.

"I just don't want to be around you anymore. It's that simple. It's just not...this isn't a friendship I want to hang onto any longer."

"Wh-why not?" Aiden had stammered. Lukas had shrugged dismissively, looking away. "Come on, we both know stuff hasn't been the same for a long time. We're just not really...things are just different now."

"Yeah, since you _left us_ for the Order of the Losers?" Aiden had said in disbelief, and Lukas crossed his arms. "No, even before that. You know what I mean. You're just not the same person you used to be, and I'm tired of dealing with it." The words were said simply, with little expression behind them. Emotionally detached.

"Oh, and _you're_ being totally normal? Why is this about me?" Aiden had demanded.

"Because you're a _problem_!" Lukas snapped, the low-lying irritation seeping through. "I used to think it was a phase, but now I see it's just who you are! You're fucking toxic, and I'm damn sick of it."

That was when the bewilderment and hurt finally gave way to anger. "Really? And I'm supposed to believe this is a coincidence, that you give up on me _right_ after you and your new team hero yourselves into fame? Admit it- you just don't want us _holding you back_."

"Why does it matter?! It's not like-"

"It matters because then it's not about us, it's about _them_! Your new hero buddies! You're ditching us because you found something you think is _better_, and you're making excuses as to why you're leaving. Trying to make it sound like this is all _my_ fault, like I've turned into some kind of villain."

Lukas hadn't said anything for a few moments, quietly seething with anger. He pointed a thin finger at Aiden. "No. It's not about them. It's about _this, _all your making accusations and dodging guilt. Nothing's _ever_ your fault. It's always someone else's doing. God forbid you take any of the fucking blame you deserve." he ranted. "I'm done with it, I'm done with you. You'll never change, and I don't know what the hell brainwashed me into thinking you would."

Aiden had bared his teeth in an infuriated snarl. "You just want status! You want people treating you like a god, and you're using _me _as an excuse to tag along with the people who'll get you that!"

"SO WHAT?" Lukas had roared, before lowering his voice into a sarcastic tone. "Yeah, you got me! I'm trading you in for _fame_! That's it! It's not because you're a _dick_ and you don't know how to take blame, no way! This actually has nothing to do with you! It's always someone else's fault, just like you've been saying for how fucking long?"

"You're an asshole." Aiden had snapped. Lukas's expression of rage morphed into a cold glare. "At least I'm not turning into the villain of my own fucking life story."

Lukas had turned away then, and Aiden had called, "So that's it, then? How many years of friendship, down the drain 'cause you'd rather start following in the footsteps of those other high-and-mighty pricks? Everything we've been through doesn't mean a fucking thing, is that what you're telling me?"

The blond boy had given him another bitter look over his shoulder. "You're already insufferable enough, don't start being dramatic on top of everything else. We didn't have some _special bond_. I don't think we even had enough history to bother with throwing away."

That said, he'd walked off, leaving Aiden with a roiling pit of fury in his stomach. He'd stood there for several moments more, demons and memories chasing each other dizzy in his mind. He hardly remembered going home, but he easily recalled the empty feeling Lukas's words had caused.

_I don't think we even had enough history to bother with throwing away._

Aiden couldn't figure out if Lukas had meant that. They had years and years of history, or had he forgotten?

They'd helped each other through _everything_. Through Aiden's bouts of depression to Lukas's fits of overworking himself, to everything in-between. Maya and Gill were his friends as well, but Lukas...Lukas had been _different_.

Lukas had been everything.

Now, all Aiden knew was that the Order had taken his closest friend away from him. No matter whose fault it really was- and Aiden's ever-present internal voice of self-hate reminded him that it was his own -Lukas had chosen them.

He wanted to destroy them.

They thought of him as a villain? They would get his villainous side.

_Failed, failed, failed. Wicked doesn't win._


	4. four

Sky City was supposed to have been his 'last hurrah'. A crazy attempt to show the Order that no matter what they thought of him, he wasn't to be messed with. It was not a conscious decision, rather, it was just how things had played out. 

There was no going back now.

His dreams had turned to nightmares, a hell from which he'd never be spared.

He was never controlling the story, just forced along for the ride.

He should've known. 

Aiden had run out of reasons to keep going. All he had was the haunting memories of the life he'd left behind, and his own ragged body. Everything else had either been taken from him, or he'd thrown it away.

After he fled Sky City and retreated to this hidden mine, he'd spent the days roaming the empty forest outside, and nights succumbing to his own self-hatred. The wind had become his only friend, ruffling his unruly mane of brown hair. 

For weeks he'd lived in a state of suspension, not leaving the elaborate trap of his own mind. With nothing else to distract him, his mental barriers against his own dark thoughts gave way. 

_Failed. You've failed at every last thing you ever tried._

_You failed to change._

_You failed to become a better person._

_You failed to find your feelings in the life you failed to leave behind._

_You failed to end your cycle of pain._

_You failed to keep the one person you might've loved._

_You failed to turn back._

_You failed to get your vengeance._

_You failed to really live._

_You failed to die. _

His thoughts usually continued down in that dark spiral, until he was sobbing into his arms, hating everything he was and everything he'd done. His lungs felt toxic, like every breath was a crime against the world. 

He was tired of failure. 

By some cruel twist of fate, he'd discovered that his temporary safe haven wasn't far from Beacontown. He'd been roaming the forest as usual, hoping and dreading he'd find something to give him purpose, when he discovered a small path leading away. He'd followed it, and after a few minutes, the familiar shapes of the buildings that made up his old hometown came into view.

Further proof that he'd never escape his mistakes. 

One evening, he'd slipped into the town, hoping no one would recognize him by the telltale black jacket. But he was hardly given a second glance as he slid between the lengthening shadows, watching for something he didn't know. 

Then his destruction strolled through town.

The Order, returning from some adventure. They acknowledged people casually as they passed, throwing easy greetings to those they knew. Petra and Lukas hung back, slightly away from the other three, talking quietly.

Lukas looked at ease. He was smiling as he spoke, blue eyes shining with a kind of joy Aiden hadn't seen on him in months. The looks that passed between him and Petra were more than friendly, showing that the two of them had a deeper bond. 

One last stab of pain sunk into Aiden's heart. Once upon a time, Lukas had looked at him like that. He'd been the one to make the blond boy smile that way.

But none of that mattered to either of them anymore. 

Aiden watched as Petra suddenly quickened her pace, drawing ahead of Lukas as she hurried forward to say something to Jesse.

As though a hand of Fate was guiding him, Lukas suddenly stopped short, turning his head just enough to see Aiden standing in the shadows. His brows lifted slightly in surprise, a subtle enough change in expression that anyone who didn't know him wouldn't have been able to tell he'd seen something unexpected. 

For one impossible moment, neither of them moved.

Aiden lifted his chin, a nod of acknowledgment cut in half. As though the tiny motion had informed Lukas that Aiden was, in fact, standing right there, his neutral expression sunk into a glare.

The dark stare made his thoughts clearer than they could've been if he'd yelled it. 

_I don't want to see you again_.

He turned his attention back to the Order's headquarters, striding easily away as though he'd never been aware of the presence of his former friend. 


	5. five

_Failure. How many times have you failed?_

_Don't fail again._

_I won't fail again._

_Not this time. _

That was when Aiden stopped feeling.

He didn't feel the weariness of his body as he trekked back to the cave.

He didn't feel the roughness of the stone as he threw off his boots and jacket and sat with his back against the wall, wrapping his fingers through his hair.

He didn't feel the shortness of breath that came with the chest-heaving sobs.

He didn't feel the white-hot tears that flooded from his eyes like a storm.

He didn't feel the hours passing as the evening turned into night.

He didn't feel the blood running down his arms as he tore his old scars open again in the tirade of his mind against his body.

He didn't feel the ache of his throat when he'd yelled into the depths of the mine, running out of ways to express his internal agony.

He didn't feel the soft grass underfoot as, long past midnight, he walked back to Beacontown.

He didn't feel the _silence_ as he had in his weeks of solitude.

He didn't feel the sharp coldness of the small knife he drew from his inventory, nor the fine details of the carved handle.

All he was aware of was the now-overwhelming desire to be _gone_.

_No more feeling. No more failure. No more. No more. _

The first time he'd tried this, he'd been found. Lukas- _of course it had to be Lukas_ -had discovered him curled up desolately in his room, only seconds after the cuts had been made.

No one would save him tonight. Even if he was found before he bled out, there wasn't anyone left who would care enough to save him.

He used to think things like that all the time, whenever the more dismal aspects of life started to wear him down. But this time, he was in a different enough state of mind to know that it was _true_, not just a demon of his imagination.

The dim moonlight didn't do the likeness of the Order's amulet justice. In the sun, the different colours shone like joyful eyes, but they were nothing more than hunks of glass here in the darkness.

Aiden dropped to his knees, tilting his head back to look at the sky. The stars did not care who he was or what he'd done. He was just another stupid human being, making stupid decisions and getting worked up by stupid things.

He was done here.

He hardly even felt it as he pulled the Potion of Decay from his inventory, uncorked it, and downed the contents in one swallow.

He hardly even felt it as he dragged the knife down his forearms. Twice on each- a smaller cut across the wrists, to give him a chance to feel the blood, and then a pair of life-ending slashes.

He hardly even felt it as he sunk the blade into his stomach, twisting the handle in as far as it would go. He was just that far gone.

Aiden yanked the knife out of his gut, pale hand shaking wildly as he lifted the blade and watched his own blood drip off it. The gore on the knife was bright as roses, but the liquid pouring onto the ground was so much darker.

_Red obsidian, _he thought hazily.

He collapsed then, falling sideways. He couldn't breathe, and didn't want to anyway.

_It's over now. It's done. It's over. You're finished._

_No more failure._

_You finally get to rest_.


	6. quick author's note

Hi everyone, and thank you for reading No Rest for the Wicked. I hope you enj- err, I hope this story gave you some feels even if it was too dark to really _enjoy _haha

This story comes from a very dark place that I've spent a lot of time dwelling on, where all the demons of my brain hang out. A lot of Aiden's issues in this are based heavily on my own, though I'm not quite as far gone as him.

I've always felt like Aiden could've been a really complex and interesting character had he been developed more in the canon game, which is why I've devoted many of my story ideas to him. Unlike most of my MCSM books, however, NRftW focuses less on the good person he could've been, and more on what led him down that dark road.

Depression and self-hatred are not easy for me to describe, despite the fact that I've been struggling with them both for several years. Surprisingly enough, this story was not a vent of any kind, just an idea I had that I wanted to challenge myself with.

There's another story of mine that ties into this book, called Parallels. It's pretty different from NRftW in terms of theme, but it's still dark and weird and I'm very proud of it.  
Parallels is also the most recent of my works, so if you're looking for something new and interesting, that one might be a decent place to start.

Anyway, thanks again for the support, and have a non-depressing day c:

If...if you still can.

Sorry.

But also not.


End file.
